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Dad For One Drabble
(Set in the Family Matters universe!)
cw: toddlers
All For One was thoroughly punishing his subordinates for an idiotic mistake - the team in charge of managing one of their largest Trigger production and distribution chains had accidentally leaked information to a police informant, leading to a raid and shutdown of the drug ring. Half of the lackeys lay on the floor in bloody, beaten, newly-quirkless heaps, the other half trembling from the knowledge that they would soon face the same punishment, when All For One’s phone started ringing in his pocket.
All For One’s eye twitched, annoyed at being disturbed while working, making the minions in the room shudder in fear for their lives. The villain pulled out his phone and jammed his finger against the answer button without looking at the screen.
“Speak,” he commanded in a near hiss, clearly annoyed to have been interrupted, but his angry expression melted away the instant the person on the other end began speaking.
“Daddy! I gotta tell you something!” a voice clearly belonging to a child said, excited and loud enough that even the minions on the other side of the room could hear it. Pangs of sympathy went through them for the child that would soon be reduced to smithereens, all because they had mistaken a villain’s phone number for their father’s.
“Izuku? What’s the matter?” All For One spoke quickly, the concern and love(?) in his voice startling the minions terribly. All For One…knew this child? Allowed himself to be called da- dadd- father? “Is everything alright at home?”
“I used the potty by myself!”
“That’s…that’s wonderful!” All For One was smiling brightly, the genuine joy on his face completely foreign to the minions on the ground. “Did you remember to wash your hands?”
“Yeah! I used the potty, and I sang the ABCs song, and washed my hands!”
“All by yourself?”
“Uh huh! I didn’t ask Mommy for help! And I flushed the potty too!”
“Well, you did a great job, bunny. I’m very proud of you,” All For One said fondly, although confusion briefly took over as he pulled away just long enough to look at his phone screen. “Izuku, did you ask Mommy if you could call me?”
“Nuh uh. Mommy’s sleepy. I got Mommy’s phone, and I 'membered Daddy’s number all by myself!”
All For One laughed (laughed!) softly (softly!) shaking his head. “My baby boy is so smart, but next time you need to ask Mommy for permission before calling me. Now, go put Mommy’s phone back, okay?”
“Don’t wanna!”
“Izuku,” All For One sighed, although it was clear that he wasn’t angry whatsoever (was it even possible for the villain to not be angry?!), “Daddy’s still at work, so you’ve got to put the phone back.”
“I don’t wanna!” Little Izuku shouted. Every minion in the room winced in sympathy for the little boy, they all knew exactly how All For One dealt with those who disobeyed him-
“Why not, bunny?” All For One said, already showing more patience than they had ever seen, even more so when the boy started loudly crying and the villain didn’t immediately hang up.
“I…I miss you!” Izuku sobbed out, “I want hugs, Daddy!”
All For One slapped a hand over his heart, making a face like he’d been shot, and it almost looked like there were tears in his eyes - but there was no way that was possible. All For One was the most powerful man in the world, he didn’t cry like…like that blubbering child on the phone!
“I miss Daddy! I want a hug!”
“Izuku,” All For One said firmly yet so lovingly, “I miss you too. I’m coming home very soon, and I promise to give you the biggest hug ever when I get home. For now though…how about you find your brother and ask him for a hug, okay?”
There was a brother?! All For One had another son?!?!
“Okay,” Izuku sniffled, “Nii-chan’s hugs are nice.”
“I know they are, baby. I’ll see you very soon, alright?”
“Okay. Love you, Daddy!”
All For One inhaled sharply, biting down on his fist and screaming into it, nearly making every minion in the room faint from shock. He composed himself in less than a second - although he was still grinning like an idiot - and was back to speaking to the child.
“I love you too. Now, go put Mommy’s phone back and ask your brother for a hug.”
“Okay! Bye bye Daddy! Love you!”
“Bye bye, Izuku. Love you too.”
All For One sighed happily as he ended the call, staring at his phone screen with a dopey grin, although it was immediately replaced by a scowl when he noticed the underlings watching him.
“Well, this is awkward,” All For One said in a way that made 'awkward' sound like code for 'going to end painfully and slowly for you', “I don’t like to mix my family into work, for obvious reasons, but you can never anticipate what a three-year-old will do.”
The villain rolled his head in a circle, the joints in his neck cracking menacingly. His arm began to swell with quirks being added to it, the underlings all sweating and trembling with fear.
“You heard my son. He wants me to come home early - which means we’ll be cutting this short.” All For One said while grabbing the nearest lackey by the throat, smashing him into the ground hard enough to make the floor crack, “Maybe if you tell me how adorable and smart my son is, I’ll let you live and leave with most of your limbs still intact.”
i outta write some fan fictions but between reading them and thinking about it i jus don know
Too good, too fucking good! Might actually convert me to a Angel!Caleb believer!
Fallen
❤︎ tags and content: fallen angel, rough sex, slight?virginity(bc he's an angel ya know) ❤︎ author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3
🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo
You weren’t supposed to see him. He wasn’t supposed to want you.
Yet, night after night, Caleb watched from the shadows—an angel bound by duty, tethered to a divinity that no longer felt like salvation. You were a temptation he swore he would resist, a fleeting mortal he was never meant to touch. But some choices are made long before they ever reach the tongue, and the moment you met his gaze, he knew. His fall was inevitable.
Now, stripped of his grace, wings sullied by the weight of his own desire, he is no longer bound to the heavens—only to you. And when he touches you for the first time, he is not gentle. He is starving.
The dream unfolds in silence, vast and unbroken, cradling you in a space that feels neither real nor false, but something suspended between the two. The world around you is vast yet formless, a place without sky, without ground, without anything but the sensation of being. There is no cold, no warmth, only a quiet, weightless stillness that presses against your skin like the memory of an embrace.
Golden light spills across the horizon—or what you assume to be a horizon—rolling over the distance like a tide, shifting and restless, unbound by direction or form. The glow isn’t harsh, nor is it the blinding brilliance of midday sun, but something softer, richer, as though the entire world has been wrapped in the last aching moments of twilight. It paints everything it touches in gold and fire, in something otherworldly, something beyond human understanding.
That’s when you see him.
Not as an approaching figure, not as a sudden presence disrupting the quiet, but as though he has always been there, waiting beyond the edges of your perception, unnoticed until your eyes settle on him. He stands amidst the golden glow, his body half-draped in it, his presence so seamless that for a moment, he seems carved from the light itself.
The first thing you notice is his face—sharp, striking, cut from a kind of beauty that feels almost painful to look at, as though the world itself had shaped him with too much precision, too much care. His skin is pale, a shade caught between marble and moonlight, untouched by imperfection, yet far from delicate. His expression, unreadable yet impossibly calm, carries a weight that you cannot name, something ancient and solemn resting beneath the surface.
His eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, are a deep shade of amethyst—rich and endless, shifting between dusk and violet flame. They are steady, unblinking, watching you with a focus so absolute that it feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around you, holding you in place even when nothing else does. They glow faintly in the golden haze, an unnatural, breathtaking contrast against the warm light surrounding him.
His hair, dark as tempered mahogany, falls around him in soft waves, longer than you expect, tousled as though touched by hands that never should have touched him. Strands catch the glow, kissed at the edges by something almost auburn, though the depth of its darkness remains untouched by the radiance around him.
And his wings—
They are massive, stretching far beyond what should be possible, a brilliant cascade of white and gold feathers that shimmer where the light touches them. Each one is flawless, arranged with a precision that makes them seem sculpted rather than real, yet there is no doubt that they are his, that they belong to him as much as breath belongs to lungs. They move in slow, deliberate shifts, subtle twitches that send ripples through the sea of feathers, as though even in stillness, they carry the weight of something immense.
Despite the sheer enormity of him, the way his presence seems to fill the entire space, you do not feel fear. There is no instinct screaming at you to run, no shadow of doubt curling at the edges of your thoughts, only the overwhelming certainty that you are safe here.
And yet, even as safety settles over your skin, something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something just beyond your reach, curling at the edges of your awareness like the first stirrings of a storm. It is not danger, not exactly, but an intensity you cannot define, a pull that tugs at the center of your chest, quiet yet insistent, as if your very soul is responding to something unseen.
He does not move, not at first, only watches, gaze steady, expression unreadable. The silence between you stretches, thick and unbroken, but it is not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels purposeful, as though something unspoken is being exchanged, something vast and quiet passing between you without the need for words.
Finally, as if the weight of the moment has shifted just enough, his lips part, and his voice reaches you—not loud, not sharp, but something low and steady, woven with a softness that contradicts the sheer power of the being before you.
“You should not be here.”
The words are not spoken as a warning, nor do they carry the sharp edge of command, yet something in them settles deep in your chest, a statement of truth rather than a demand.
You should not be here.
And yet, you are.
Your lips part, a question forming on the tip of your tongue, but before you can speak, something shifts. The golden light flickers, just slightly, the glow trembling as though something unseen has disturbed it. It is the smallest change, barely perceptible, but you feel it.
His amethyst gaze flickers—just a breath, just the briefest moment of something almost uncertain—before his wings shift, folding in ever so slightly, as if shielding something unseen.
The pull at your chest deepens, sharpens, turning from a whisper into something demanding.
You take a step forward.
His eyes widen—only slightly, only just enough for you to catch it—but before you can take another breath, the dream begins to dissolve. The golden light trembles, curling at the edges of your vision, and the weightlessness around you turns unsteady, slipping away like sand between your fingers.
You try to hold onto it, to hold onto him, but the dream is already pulling apart, unraveling into nothingness—
And then you wake.
The world of the waking rushes in too fast, too sudden, the cool air of your room a stark contrast to the warmth you had just been wrapped in. Your pulse is uneven, your breath unsteady, and even as your eyes adjust to the dim glow of reality, one thing remains crystal clear—
You remember everything.
Not a hazy dream, not a fleeting image, but him. His face, his voice, the impossible weight of his presence—
And the way it felt like he had been waiting for you.
<hr>
Sleep had been deep, heavy, wrapping around you like a second skin, but something stirred at the edges of it—an awareness, quiet at first, like a whisper against the grain of your mind. A presence. It wasn’t a noise that woke you, nor a sudden jolt, but the distinct and unshakable feeling that you were being watched.
Your breath came slow as your senses adjusted, the darkness of your room still thick with the remnants of sleep. The weight of your blankets was familiar, the air still touched with the lingering warmth of your own body, and yet—
Something was wrong.
The air was heavier, thicker, as if space itself had been altered, the atmosphere laced with something unseen, something felt rather than noticed. A slow, creeping awareness prickled along your skin, a pull at the center of your chest like a silent demand to look.
So you did.
Your eyes opened, adjusting to the dim glow of the night, and for a moment, nothing seemed out of place. The room was the same—your bed, the faint sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, the outline of your dresser against the far wall. But there, at the edge of shadow and light, standing near the foot of your bed—
He was there.
A figure, tall and unmoving, half-shrouded in darkness but unmistakably real. He was watching you, his presence filling the space in a way that made the walls feel smaller, the air thicker, a presence too vast to be contained within something as simple as a room.
Even before your eyes adjusted fully, you knew it was him.
Not a figment of a dream. Not a lingering memory slipping between the cracks of consciousness. He was here, standing in the waking world, no longer confined to the golden haze of sleep.
Your pulse jumped, breath catching in your throat, but not in fear—not entirely. The reaction wasn’t one of panic, not the kind that sent limbs thrashing and instincts screaming. It was something else, something deeper, an understanding that hadn’t fully formed but already took root inside you.
He had been waiting.
The moonlight caught on his features as your vision sharpened, illuminating the sharp lines of his face, the way his dark waves framed his striking features. His expression was unreadable, those deep amethyst eyes steady, locked onto yours with an intensity that didn’t waver.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken.
But he was watching.
A slow exhale left your lips, barely audible against the stillness, as you forced your voice to steady.
“…Caleb.”
His name came like a breath, slipping between parted lips before you could think to question how you knew it so certainly, how it felt like it had always belonged to you, like it was something your soul had known long before your mind could catch up.
His eyes flickered—just barely, just enough for something unreadable to shift behind them. But he did not speak, did not react beyond the slight tension in his shoulders, the barely-there flex of his fingers at his sides.
Your heart pounded harder. The weight of his presence pressed against you like a force just outside of understanding, but you weren’t drowning in it—you were drawn to it, inexplicably, dangerously.
Your voice was quieter this time, softer, threaded with something you weren’t sure you wanted to name.
“…Why are you here?”
A pause, thick and weighted, stretching long between you, as though the very air had to decide whether or not it would allow him to answer.
When he did, his voice was low, steady, impossibly soft but filled with something vast beneath the surface.
“…You saw me.”
His words sent something curling in your stomach, an unspoken truth lingering between them.
You had seen him.
Not just now, not just standing at the foot of your bed like an impossibility made real, but before. In the dreams, in the golden light, in the places where reality blurred and something deeper called out from beyond the veil of knowing.
Your breath shuddered.
“Was that real?”
The question left you before you could stop it, before you could weigh the logic of it, but Caleb didn’t look surprised. If anything, there was something else in his expression now, something carefully contained, unreadable but heavy.
His gaze held yours for a moment longer, long enough for the silence to stretch until it became something alive, something breathing between you.
Then—
A single step. Not rushed, not hesitant, just deliberate. The space between you lessened, and in the dim light, you caught the way his wings moved—just slightly, just enough for the faintest shimmer of white and gold to shift behind him, confirming what you already knew. Not a dream. Not a phantom of your subconscious.
Caleb was here. Real.
And as he stood before you, as his presence filled the air in a way that made it impossible to breathe without feeling him—
The silence between you pressed down, thick and aching, the kind that didn’t just settle over the room but wound itself around your ribs, squeezing with the weight of something unspoken. Caleb stood before you, his body still, his expression unreadable, but his presence—his presence—was a storm barely held at bay.
You could feel it.
Something vast, something breaking apart beneath the surface, something he wasn’t saying but couldn’t quite contain. His amethyst eyes, impossibly deep, remained locked onto yours, but there was something different now, something frayed at the edges, as if he were only just realizing that this moment—this collision between you—had already shifted the world beneath his feet.
You swallowed, breath unsteady but refusing to look away.
“Caleb,” you murmured again, his name slipping from your lips like a tether, like if you said it enough, he would stay.
His expression flickered—just for a second, just enough for something almost pained to slip through the cracks before his gaze dropped, his shoulders shifting under an invisible weight. His wings moved behind him, feathers rustling ever so slightly, restless, unsure.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, low and strained, as if saying the words alone was an act of defiance against something greater than either of you.
“…I should not be here.”
The statement was soft, but it landed with the force of something final, something meant to sever the moment before it could take root. But there was no conviction in his voice, no certainty—only a quiet, bitter resignation, as though the words themselves were nothing more than a lie he had told himself one too many times.
You sat up further, pulse thrumming against your skin, searching his face for something—anything—that might explain what this was, what he was.
But Caleb was already taking a step back.
The movement was slow, measured, like it took effort, like something unseen was trying to hold him in place even as he forced himself to retreat. His eyes lifted to yours once more, and this time, they were unmistakably sad—a sorrow so deep, so worn, that it didn’t feel like it belonged to this moment alone, but to something far older, something that had been unraveling long before this night.
The distance between you stretched.
He turned. Your breath caught. He was leaving.
And yet—
At the threshold of your room, just as the shadows curled at the edges of his presence, he stopped. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear, and his fingers flexed at his sides, tension running through him like a barely restrained tremor. Then, in a voice softer than the sigh of wind through dying leaves, he spoke.
“…I’ll be back.”
The words came quiet but heavy, filled with something that didn’t belong to choice, something that had already been decided long before he had ever stepped into your world. His gaze flickered to yours, and for the first time, he let the truth bleed into his expression—let you see it, let it settle between you like a weight that could never be lifted.
“I have no choice anymore.”
His wings shifted, golden light flickering at the edges where they met shadow, and his voice dropped lower, something final curling at the edges of it.
“…I’ve fallen.”
The next breath he took—slow, unsteady—felt like a confession, like an acceptance of something he had been fighting against for far too long. His gaze softened, and for a single, fragile moment, it looked as though he might say something else, something that could have changed everything. Caleb stepped back, and the space where he had been was empty.
No sound, no flicker of movement. Just the quiet aftermath of something vast and terrible that had just slipped away.
You were alone.
And yet, the last thing he had said clung to the air like a ghost, curling around you, pressing into your chest like something that refused to be forgotten.
He had fallen. What did that mean? Was that why he kept appearing in your dreams night after night?
<hr>
For seven days, the room had felt empty.
No shadows stretching where they shouldn’t, no flickers of light bending against something unseen, no silent weight pressing against your skin like a presence just outside of reach. You told yourself it had only been a dream, that you had woken to nothing but the remnants of sleep clinging to your thoughts, that the warmth lingering in the air that night had been imagined—
But the truth curled at the edges of your consciousness like an echo that refused to fade. You had not imagined him. You had not imagined the way his amethyst eyes had locked onto yours, the way sorrow had laced through his voice, nor the quiet, devastating certainty in his parting words.
I’ll be back.
And so, you waited. You told yourself you weren’t, that life moved forward as it always had, that you weren’t lingering by your window late into the night, weren’t straining your senses for something just beyond the veil of knowing, weren’t reaching for a presence that should not exist.
You felt it before you saw him.
The shift in the air, the way the space around you seemed to tighten, how the night pressed in closer, thick and electric with something unseen. The hairs on the back of your neck rose, anticipation curling into something deep, something primal, something that sent heat trickling down your spine in a slow, curling ache.
Then—he was there.
Not a flicker, not a gradual materialization, but a sudden, jarring presence—a figure standing at the threshold of your room, shadowed against the dim glow of the city lights bleeding through the window, tall and unmoving, shoulders stiff, wings half-spread as though caught in the throes of hesitation.
But his eyes.
Dark lashes framed them, but they burned in the low light, deep violet streaked with something feverish, something that sent a slow pulse of heat curling low in your stomach. The moment you met his gaze, the breath in your chest stilled, the world narrowing down to nothing but the space between you, and the way the air itself shuddered under the weight of his presence.
You swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets as you pushed yourself up, words forming on your tongue but catching before they could take shape—because he looked different.
Pale skin stretched taut over sharp features, shadows lingering beneath his eyes, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, as though every movement was something deliberate, something painful. His hair, dark waves curling messily around his face, looked unkempt, as though fingers had raked through it over and over, restless, desperate.
And then there was the way he stared at you. Like he was starving. Like he had been dying without you. Like he had spent every waking moment since he left aching for something he could not name, could not reach, could not have—until now.
"Caleb," you murmured, barely a whisper, barely a breath, but the sound of his name seemed to wreck him.
A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching at his sides, his wings giving a single, shuddering tremor before, suddenly—
He moved.
Fast. Fluid. A blur of motion that sent the air curling around you, and then his hands were on you—gripping, trembling—as he crashed into you, his mouth devouring yours in something frantic, something shattered.
Heat exploded through your body the moment his lips met yours, desperate and hungry, nothing careful about the way he kissed you, as though restraint had long since crumbled, as though seven days had left him nothing but hunger and he was breaking apart beneath it.
His hands cupped your face, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you, like he was afraid you would slip through his grasp if he did not hold tight enough. His breath came ragged between kisses, deep, uneven, like he had spent an eternity without air and you were the only thing that could bring him back.
Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his toga, pulling him closer, because it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough. The press of his body, the sharp line of his jaw grazing against your skin, the way he groaned into your mouth when your hands moved over his chest, gripping at him, clawing at him, wanting him just as much as he wanted you.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead remained pressed to yours, his breath hot and shaking against your lips.
"I choose this," he whispered, voice thick, raw, as though the words were tearing through him, desperate to be spoken. "I choose Earth. I choose—"
His lips brushed against yours again, barely a kiss, barely a breath, before he exhaled, voice breaking around the words that left him ruined.
"I choose you."
A sound left you—something quiet, something wrecked—because there was nothing left between you now, no veil, no barrier, no whispered uncertainty.
Caleb’s breath was ragged, uneven, the weight of his body pressing into you like he could sink into you, like he could lose himself in the warmth of your skin and finally, finally forget the eternity of restraint that had left him hollow.
His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of heat, not quite a kiss but something worse, something unbearable, something pleading.
“Say it,” he rasped, his voice nothing but velvet and ruin, his fingers tightening at your waist, sinking into the fabric of your clothes as though he was already memorizing how you felt beneath him. “Say that you want this.”
As if you hadn’t already answered him in the way you clung to him, the way your fingers had tangled in the mess of his dark waves, the way your body arched into his as though it had been waiting for him longer than time itself.
“I want this,” you whispered, breathless, no hesitation, no doubt, no second thoughts—only the truth that had burned between you since the moment he first touched you.
Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a groan, half pained, half something darker, something that sent fire curling low in your stomach before his mouth finally crashed against yours.
The kiss was deep, consuming, desperate, as though he had been starving for you, as though this was something he had been denying himself for far too long, and now there was no restraint left—no divinity, no rules, no god above to command him to stop.
His hands roamed your body, reverent yet claiming, his touch burning into you as though he was trying to carve himself into your very bones. His fingers curled into your hips, dragging you against him, letting you feel exactly what you had done to him, how wrecked he was from just a week away from you.
His teeth caught at your bottom lip, a low, guttural sound slipping from his throat when you gasped against his mouth, and something in him snapped.
The world tilted.
You barely had time to gasp before you were beneath him, his wings unfurled in a sudden movement, blocking out the dim light, making the entire world feel smaller, like there was nothing beyond this—beyond him.
“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, the word barely a breath, barely spoken, but thick with something dangerous, something that had no return. His mouth trailed lower, the sharp edge of his jaw grazing against your throat, the heat of his breath sending shivers racing down your spine before—
A kiss.
There. Right at the pulse point, right where your heartbeat was the strongest, where he could feel the life pulsing beneath your skin.And then another. Softer. Lingering. His teeth, scraping, testing, marking, as though the last fragments of his restraint were slipping away with every inch of you he devoured.
“Caleb,” you gasped, nails digging into his back, catching on the smooth, impossibly soft feathers of his wings, and that single, accidental touch was his undoing.
He shuddered, his entire body tensing, his breath shaking against your skin before he groaned, low and wrecked, pressing himself harder against you like he could merge you together, like the separation between your bodies was something intolerable.
“I should have stayed away,” he muttered, a confession that meant nothing when his hands were already tugging at your clothes, already sliding against bare skin with a reverence that felt nothing like regret. “I should have—”
You cut him off with a kiss, dragging him back to you, deepening it until he whimpered against your mouth. And that was it. That was the moment restraint became nothing. Caleb took. His lips, his hands, his body, all of it pressing, claiming, his mouth worshipping your skin like he had prayed to touch you and had finally been granted permission. His hands were rough, shaking slightly, fingertips pressing bruises into your hips, dragging you against him, chasing the friction, needing you the way he needed air. He kissed you like you were the first thing he had ever wanted—like this was the reason he had fallen, like this was what he had chosen.
And when his lips met your throat again, when he moaned against your skin, when his teeth grazed in warning before he sucked.
Caleb’s breath burned against your skin, each exhale ragged, uneven, pressing heat into your throat as if he could brand himself into you without even touching. His body was tense, muscles coiled with restraint that frayed at the edges, his hands gripping you with a desperation that barely masked the way he trembled, the way his control unraveled the longer he stayed pressed against you. His mouth traced along your jaw, slow but aching, as though he wanted to memorize every inch, as though this was the last prayer left to him.
Fingers twisted in his hair, dark waves curling between your knuckles, and when you tugged, he shuddered against you, a quiet groan slipping past his lips, something low and wrecked, something that made heat coil deep in your stomach. His wings trembled behind him, those impossibly soft feathers brushing against your arms, grazing your skin like a whisper of divinity still clinging to him despite his fall.
But there was nothing divine in the way his thigh pressed between yours, nothing celestial about the slow, deliberate way he rocked against you, his breath stuttering as he felt what he had done to you, what he had become for you. Every shift of his body was careful, every movement reverent but possessive, as if he had spent an eternity starving for this moment and was only just realizing he could have it.
The bed loomed behind you, close enough to reach, a silent promise wrapped in darkness, but Caleb made no move toward it. He was still here, still tracing his lips over your skin, still devouring you in slow, unhurried strokes of his hands, like he wanted to savor the suffering of restraint a little longer.
He wasn’t rushing.
He was surrendering.
His lips hovered over yours, breath warm, unsteady, the smallest space separating you as he murmured your name, voice fractured at the edges, thick with something you weren’t sure he had the strength to hold back any longer.
“The bed,” you whispered, the words barely spoken, barely a breath, but they shattered something between you, breaking the last fragile thread of distance still holding him together.
Caleb went still, his chest pressing against yours, fingers curling tighter at your waist, nails digging into fabric, knuckles taut with the unbearable need to move, to take, to claim. A slow inhale dragged through his lungs, his forehead resting against yours, his body caging you in as if trying to resist, but you knew—
He had no restraint left.
His arms tightened around you in a single, fluid motion, one curling beneath your legs, the other pressing against the small of your back, the movement effortless, strength barely contained as he lifted you from the ground. It should have felt sudden, should have caught you off guard, but the moment you felt yourself being carried, the moment your body was pressed against his, the moment his grip tightened—
It felt inevitable.
The world tilted, warmth surrounding you, the soft sheets of your bed pressing against your back as Caleb followed, never letting you go, never releasing his hold. His wings unfurled in a sweeping arc, stretching wide before folding inward, curling around the two of you as if to shield this moment, as if to keep it untouched, sacred, belonging to only you and him.
He hovered above you, breath labored, eyes dark with something unrelenting, something that made your stomach tighten as his gaze raked over you, as if he were seeing you for the first time, as if this was the moment he truly understood what he had given up, what he had chosen. His hands framed your face, reverent, shaking slightly as his thumb traced over your cheek, his weight pressing into you, every part of him demanding something he hadn’t yet put to words.
“I choose this,” he whispered, voice quiet but sure, breaking around the words like they carried too much weight for his mortal tongue to bear. His fingers slid down the length of your arm, warm, grounding, lacing between your own as he pinned your hands to the bed, his grip firm, possessive, desperate. “I choose you.”
His lips met yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation.
There was no lingering restraint, no careful exploration, only hunger—only a week of distance crashing into him all at once, the pent-up ache of denial finally breaking free. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, like this was what he had fallen for, like he had no regrets, no doubts, only the certainty that he had given up everything for this moment, and he would do it again.
His body pressed against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin, the weight of his presence consuming every sense, and when his mouth moved lower, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, lingering where your pulse pounded, his breath trembled with something wrecked.
This wasn’t just desire. This was devotion.
This was the moment he stopped being something fallen and started being something yours.
The moment restraint snapped, Caleb’s hands were on you, tearing at the fabric between you with an urgency that felt centuries old, as though he had spent lifetimes denying himself and could not bear another second of distance. The heat of his body pressed into yours, a brand, a claim, his fingers rough in their haste but reverent in the way they traced over bare skin, like each inch of you was something sacred.
His mouth was everywhere. Lips bruising against yours, breath ragged as he swallowed every sound you made, as though devouring your surrender. The drag of his teeth against your throat sent a shudder racing through you, a low sound escaping him when your fingers tangled into his hair, gripping, pulling, making him groan into your skin. His wings flexed, stretching wide, then folding around you, blocking out the world, caging you beneath him in a way that felt like both protection and possession.
The clothes between you were gone too fast, discarded with a desperation that spoke of need, of something too long denied, his hands skating over every newly exposed inch of skin as if memorizing, mapping, worshiping with each touch. When his palms slid down the curves of your waist, down your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you flush against him, you felt him—felt the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained shaking of his body as he tried to pace himself, to savor, to breathe.
But patience was a fragile thing, and Caleb had none left.
His lips crashed against yours once more, tongue teasing, demanding, his body pressing you deeper into the sheets as his hips aligned with yours, a sharp gasp slipping free when he rolled against you, slow but intentional, letting you feel every inch of what he had been holding back. His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot, uneven, his voice nothing more than a whisper laced with devotion and something darker, something possessive.
“You have no idea,” he rasped, words broken between heavy exhales, his fingers tightening on your hips, holding you steady as he ground against you again, eliciting a quiet, breathless sound from your lips that made his restraint fray even further. “How long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”
The desperation in his voice sent fire curling in your stomach, every nerve alight, the heat between you unbearable as he finally, finally moved in the way you both needed.
The first thrust stole your breath, sent a shudder through every inch of your body, his head dipping to the crook of your neck as he groaned, low and wrecked, his grip bruising as he held himself there, deep, still, feeling you, as if even a second without movement was agony. His wings trembled, his body tense, but the moment you tightened around him, gasping his name, something in him snapped.
He pulled back, then drove into you again, rougher this time, deeper, a shuddering exhale leaving him at the way you responded, the way your body welcomed him. His pace became relentless, his hands gripping at you like he was afraid to let go, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, up your throat, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he groaned your name like a prayer.
“This is why I fell,” he whispered between ragged breaths, his body moving against yours in a rhythm too perfect to be unholy, his voice shaking from the sheer need of it, from the realization that there was no going back. “For this. For you.”
The world unraveled between thrusts, between the sounds escaping both of you, between the unbearable friction and the way your nails raked down his back, his own fingers leaving marks on your hips as he buried himself in you again and again, no hesitation, no restraint, only the raw, earth-shattering truth of what he had become for you.
He wasn’t falling anymore.
He had already fallen, already lost himself to this, to you, to the way you whispered his name like you needed him just as much as he needed you. His movements grew erratic, breath hitching as he neared the edge, his grip unrelenting, his lips searching for yours, desperate, starved. And when you finally broke beneath him, when pleasure crashed through you with his name on your lips, his own release followed in a shuddering, wrecked exhale, a groan pressed against your mouth, his body trembling as he buried himself in you one last time.
Silence stretched between you in the aftermath, nothing but the sound of breathless gasps and the slow, steady flutter of his wings as they loosened, no longer caging, no longer trapping, but cradling.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t move.
Instead, he stayed there, his forehead resting against yours, fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns into your skin, his lips brushing against yours in something too soft to be hunger, too gentle to be anything but worship.
The room was silent but for the slowing cadence of breath, the steady rise and fall of Caleb’s chest against yours, the faint rustle of sheets as his wings, once so vast and powerful, stilled. The warmth of him was all-encompassing, his body tangled with yours, limbs heavy with exhaustion, muscles no longer held taut with restraint. His weight pressed against you, grounding, human in a way that felt so different from the impossible being who had once stood at the foot of your bed, too perfect, too untouchable, too divine.
But he was not divine anymore.
Your fingers trembled slightly as they traced the length of his back, over the ridges of his spine, down the curve of muscle still damp with heat, memorizing the feel of him—not light, not celestial radiance, but flesh and warmth, breath and heartbeat. Human. His skin bore no impossible glow now, only the soft golden hue left by candlelight, his wings no longer stretching with an overwhelming presence, only half-spread in something fragile, something uncertain, as though even he had yet to understand what he had become.
You swallowed, the realization curling deep in your chest, heavy, bittersweet.
This was it.
There was no grace left to return to, no god waiting to call him home. He had severed himself from the heavens, fallen, and for what? For you. For something fragile, something fleeting, something that could end. He had given up eternity for a life that would age, decay, slip through time’s grasp like grains of sand—and he had known. He had understood that before he ever touched you, before he ever kissed you, before he ever whispered your name like it was something sacred.
And yet, he had still chosen you.
A sharp inhale left you, unsteady, your fingers threading through his dark waves, still slightly damp with sweat, still tangled from where your hands had raked through them in desperation. The realization ached, curled in your ribs like something unbearably tender.
He had done this for you.
He had been waiting for you.
Long before you ever knew him.
Caleb shifted slightly at the sound of your breath catching, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his amethyst eyes softer now, the feverish hunger replaced with something deeper, something certain. His lips parted as though he meant to speak, to say something to pull you from the depth of your thoughts, but the words never came. Instead, his fingers brushed along your cheek, light, careful, reverent.
You turned into his touch, exhaling shakily, pressing a kiss to his palm, and he melted, his breath leaving him in something close to a sigh, relief and sorrow intertwined in the space between heartbeats.
“You’re human now,” you whispered, barely audible, as if saying it too loudly would shatter something between you.
A pause.
Caleb’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers still cradling your face as he nodded, slow, final. “…I know.”
It was quiet, simple, but the weight behind it was enormous.
You searched his face, studying the details that had once seemed untouchable—his sharp features, once ethereal, now softened by exhaustion; the lips that had spoken words of divinity now parted with nothing but the weight of feeling. He had been more than this once. He had been infinite. Now, he was yours. Just a man, bound to the earth, bound to time, bound to the same fragility as you.
And yet, despite everything he had lost, despite the eternity he had left behind, he smiled. Just barely. Just enough for something warm to settle in the cracks of your sorrow.
“I knew what I was doing,” he murmured, his voice like silk, like something certain, as though there had never been a moment of doubt, as though even now, with mortality pressing against his ribs, he had no regrets. “I chose this. I chose you.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, but Caleb caught it with his thumb, brushing it away with infinite care, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, as if the mere thought of you grieving for him was unbearable. His lips stayed there for a long moment, warm against your skin, silent reassurance passing between you in the soft hum of candlelight and cooling sheets.
“I would fall again,” he whispered against your temple, a quiet, steady vow, his arms pulling you closer, holding you as though he could bind himself to you with touch alone. “A thousand times over. If it led me to you, I would fall every time.”
The words shattered something inside you.
Your fingers dug into his back, clutching him, holding on, because for all that he had lost, for all that he had given up—he was still here. He was still yours.
And as Caleb buried his face into the crook of your neck, as his breath warmed your skin, as his heart beat in sync with yours, you knew—
No god, no heaven, no eternity could ever take him from you again.
Behind Locked Doors
Tags: College Academy AU, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Closet Sex, Aftercare, Mutual Pining, Childhood friends to lovers, Betting Pool, Happy Ending, Crack, Fluff and Smut AN: Check out all of my works on AO3! -> | link
🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo
A college academy party. A few too many drinks. And one very bold game of Truth or Dare.
You and Caleb have always been close—friends since childhood, growing up together, and maybe, just maybe, something more. At least, that’s what Patrick seems to think when he shoves the two of you into a closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. It’s all fun and games… until you both realize just how much you’ve been holding back.
Seven minutes? Not nearly enough.
The common room buzzed with an easygoing energy, full of laughter from old friends who'd weathered storms together. It was a rare celebration at Deepspace Aviation Academy, thrown by the graduating class where no one worried about schedules or debriefs. Caleb had invited you and Tara to this weekend party in Skyhaven, and you couldn't resist the chance to see him again.
You stood near the bar, idly running a finger along the rim of your glass, letting your eyes flick over the scene. Patrick was deep in conversation with another pilot, hands animated as he explained something undoubtedly flight-related. Timothy was engaged in a betting game with a few mechanics, exchanging cocky smirks and easy credits. And then there was Caleb—
His laugh rang out over the room, easy and uninhibited as he slung an arm around one of his squadmates, shaking his head at whatever nonsense had just been said. He was still the same Caleb you had known since your childhood—steadfast, warm, effortlessly charismatic.
And yet, something about him felt different tonight. Or maybe that was just you.
It wasn’t that you’d never noticed him before—of course you had. He’d been one of your closest friends, your anchor in more ways than one. But lately, there had been moments, small and fleeting, where the air between you felt charged. A glance held a second too long. The brush of his fingers when he handed you something. The way his smile softened just a little more when it was directed at you.
You hadn’t allowed yourself to think too much about it. Because if you did—if you acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, there was something there—you might not be able to ignore it anymore.
You’d known Caleb since scraped knees and stolen sweets, since racing each other across sun-drenched fields and climbing too-high fences just because he dared you to. He was always a step ahead—faster, bolder, never afraid to leap before looking. And you? You were right behind him, following his reckless lead, because that’s just how it had always been.
Growing up together meant knowing him better than most people ever would. You knew the way his grin tilted when he was up to something, the way his brows furrowed when he was deep in thought, the way he always—always—kept an eye on you, even when you pretended not to notice.
But there were things you hadn’t seen back then.
Like the way his gaze lingered when you weren’t looking. The way his teasing always felt just a little too careful, as if he was trying to keep from saying something he couldn’t take back. The way, over the years, his hand always found the small of your back, guiding you through crowds, protective without ever needing to say it.
You had always been his person. And maybe, just maybe, he had always been yours.
But neither of you ever said it.
"Alright, listen up, people!" Patrick clapped his hands together, standing on the edge of the lounge area with the kind of mischievous energy that made you instinctively wary. "We need to spice up the night."
A chorus of groans and amused sighs rippled through the group, but nobody actually stopped him.
"Truth or Dare," he announced, a grin creeping onto his face. "Classic, right? A little nostalgia never hurt anyone."
Timothy was the first to cheer in agreement, already eager to cause chaos. Others followed, some reluctantly, some with amusement, but nobody outright refused.
You took a slow sip of your drink. This is going to be a mess.
At first, the dares were all in good fun—Timothy had to send a ridiculous voice message to a superior officer, Patrick had to recite the Academy Code while doing a handstand, and even the normally-reserved Gideon got roped into taking a shot without making a face (he failed, naturally).
It was just a game. A silly, familiar game.
Until Patrick turned to you.
His eyes sparkled with something unreadable. “Alright, you. Truth or dare?”
You opened your mouth, instinctively ready to pick the safer option—truth, obviously—but before you could, a voice chimed in.
"Dare," Caleb said.
Your head snapped toward him.
There was nothing particularly suggestive about the way he said it, no teasing lilt to his tone, but there was a quiet certainty in his voice that made your pulse stutter.
Patrick beamed.
"Perfect," he hummed, barely missing a beat. "You and Caleb—Seven Minutes in Heaven."
The room reacted. Whistles, laughter, someone (probably Tara) dramatically gasping. Caleb merely huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, but he wasn’t protesting.
Your stomach did something strange. “That’s a little childish, don’t you think?”
Patrick shrugged, all innocence. “Nostalgia night, remember? You gotta follow the rules.”
You glanced at Caleb, expecting at least some resistance, but he just smiled—casual, relaxed, as if this was just another dare, no different from any other.
Except it was different. You felt it.
"Well?" Patrick raised a brow. "You gonna back out?"
Backing out meant drawing more attention to it. Backing out meant making it a thing. And if Caleb wasn’t overthinking it, why should you?
You sighed, setting your drink down. "Fine."
The group cheered as you and Caleb were herded toward a nearby supply closet, Patrick pushing the door open with way too much enthusiasm. It wasn’t large, but it was enough—enough for two people, enough to be alone.
"You guys be good in there," Patrick teased, winking before shutting the door behind you.
The lock clicked.
And then—silence.
You exhaled slowly, pressing your back against the wall, trying to steady your heartbeat. Seven minutes. That’s all this was.
Across from you, Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. His expression was unreadable, a far cry from the usual easy grins.
Seven minutes.
You swallowed.
Seven minutes had never felt so long.
The closet was just small enough that every shift, every breath, every slight movement was noticeable. Your back pressed against the metal paneling, the faint scent of aviation fuel and old flight manuals filling the space. The air between you and Caleb was warm, thick—not from lack of oxygen, but from something much, much heavier.
You cleared your throat, forcing a casual tone. “So, uh... what exactly are we supposed to be doing in here?”
Caleb huffed a quiet laugh, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement made the fabric of his shirt pull just enough to highlight the muscle underneath. Unfair.
“Well,” he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement, “traditionally, I think we’re supposed to make out.”
You scoffed, but your stomach flipped hard. “Traditionally? That’s a childish thing.”
“Yeah, but the game’s called Seven Minutes in Heaven,” he countered, shifting slightly. The space was tight enough that when he moved, he got closer, just a fraction. “Not Seven Minutes of Staring at Each Other Awkwardly.”
You bit your lip, pretending to consider. “You make a compelling argument.”
“Right?” His grin was easy, teasing. But there was something else lurking beneath it—something softer, something more cautious. As if he was waiting for you to set the pace.
It was classic Caleb. He might have been bold in battle, charging headfirst on flight paths, but when it came to you, he was always careful. Like he’d rather die than risk making you uncomfortable.
That thought made something warm curl low in your stomach.
You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “We could just sit here and talk. Catch up.”
Caleb smirked. “Yeah? You wanna talk inches away from my face in a dark closet while my friends wait for us to come out looking disheveled?”
Your lips twitched. “You got a better idea?”
“Oh, plenty,” he murmured, and suddenly, suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he really was.
He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but you could feel him. His warmth, his presence, the way his voice dipped just a little lower, turning the game into something a little less playful.
And you? You didn’t want to laugh it off.
You let out a slow breath, tilting your head. “Alright, big shot,” you teased, voice softer now. “If we’re playing by the rules… why don’t you make a move?”
Caleb was done hesitating.
His grip on your thighs tightened as he pressed you harder against the wall of the closet, his hips slotting perfectly against yours. You could feel him—solid, hot, unmistakably interested—and the realization sent a pulse of heat straight through you.
You let out a quiet, shuddering breath. "Caleb—"
The moment his name left your lips, something in him snapped.
His mouth crashed against yours, no second-guessing, just pure, pent-up want. He kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been holding back for years, and now that he had you here, pressed up against him, wrapped around him, he wasn’t wasting a single second.
His tongue slid against yours, slow but firm, coaxing a desperate little moan from your throat before you could stop it. The sound made his grip tremble—like he was using every ounce of willpower to keep himself in check.
You, on the other hand? You had no such restraint.
Your hands fisted in his uniform shirt, yanking him closer, pressing your hips forward just enough to get the friction you needed. The sharp inhale he took was rewarding—so much so that you did it again, rolling against him just slightly, testing.
Caleb growled.
His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you down against him properly, making sure you felt him. "You play dirty," he murmured against your lips, but there was no real complaint, just a teasing sort of approval.
You smirked, breathless. "You like it."
His response was a sharp nip to your bottom lip, followed by a deep, rolling grind of his hips against yours. You gasped, hands tightening in his hair as sparks shot through your veins.
"I love it," he corrected.
His mouth moved down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He savored the way you squirmed, how your fingers curled against the back of his neck, how your thighs clenched tighter around his waist with every teasing graze of his teeth against your skin.
"Caleb—"
He shushed you with another slow grind, making you whimper. "Shh, pipsqueak," he murmured, voice rough, hot against your pulse. "You wouldn’t wanna let Patrick and the others hear you, would you?"
It was cruel, the way he asked—low, teasing, edged with something dark and thrilled at the idea of getting away with this while half the academy was just beyond his door.
You swallowed thickly, chest heaving. "You’re awful."
Caleb chuckled against your skin, warm and wicked. "Nah," he countered, giving your thigh a playful squeeze. "I’m just makin’ sure we play by the rules."
He let out a low, rough chuckle, dragging his lips down your throat, your collarbone, as his hands slid further up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His grip was firm, his fingers pressing possessively into the soft skin of your legs as he lifted you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted.
The friction was torturous, enough to make your thighs squeeze around his waist, enough to pull a sharp, wanting gasp from your lips.
He groaned at the sound, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips again, slow, deliberate, making you feel just how much he wanted you.
"Fuck," he rasped, barely keeping himself together. "You feel so damn good."
You whimpered, fingers threading tighter into his hair, tugging just to hear that desperate little growl again.
Then, with a smirk, you tilted your head, lips brushing against his ear. "So, Caleb..." you purred, voice dripping with challenge. "Are you gonna do something about it?"
His breath hitched, grip tightening—and just like that, the last thread of restraint snapped.
Caleb crashed his lips against yours again, hungrier, needier, pressing you so hard against the wall that you swore you could feel it vibrate. His hands roamed, dragging up your thighs, gripping the fabric of your underwear like he was seconds from tearing them clean off—
And then, just as his fingers hooked into the waistband—
A loud, teasing knock on the door shattered the moment.
"Times up, lovebirds!" Patrick’s sing-song voice rang out, full of mischief. "Hope you two had fun in there~!"
Caleb froze, forehead dropping against your shoulder as he let out a long, deep groan—this one purely of frustration.
You let out a breathless, wrecked little laugh, hands still tangled in his hair, still aching for him. "You have to be kidding me."
Caleb exhaled, then lifted his head, eyes dark, lips swollen, body still pressed hard against yours, as his hand fell to your thigh.
He smirked, but it was dangerous.
Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge Patrick’s taunting voice on the other side of the door.
Neither did you.
Because in the heat of it all, in the way his breath ghosted over your lips, the way his hands still gripped your thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go—there was no way in hell either of you were stopping now.
Patrick could wait.
You arched against him, fingers tightening in his hair, dragging his mouth back down to yours in a searing kiss—one that made it perfectly clear you had no intention of leaving this room any time soon.
Caleb groaned into it, deep and rough, pressing you harder into the wall as his hands roamed—gripping, pulling, claiming like he was making up for every second you’d spent dancing around this, for every moment wasted not doing this sooner.
Patrick knocked again, louder this time. "Helloooo? Are you guys alive in there? Or just— are you actually—?!"
"Busy," Caleb growled, voice low, gravelly as he tore his lips from yours just long enough to shout back. "Go away."
You bit back a breathless laugh, but it turned into a sharp gasp when he rolled his hips against yours, the slow, teasing drag of his hard length making your head spin.
Patrick snorted. "Busy, huh? Ohhh, I knew it." His voice was full of mischief, but he didn’t knock again.
Didn’t matter.
Because you weren’t listening.
You were too lost in the feeling of Caleb’s hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing against the sensitive skin of your thighs.
"You sure?" he murmured, voice thick with restraint, with the barely held-back need burning in his eyes.
You didn’t hesitate. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."
That was all he needed.
Caleb smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You in a rush to get out of here?”
You swallowed, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Not exactly.”
His grip on you flexed slightly before he moved, backing you against the wooden panels of the closet, pressing just enough of his weight against you to make your breath hitch. His knee slid between your thighs, parting them just slightly, not enough to satisfy, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat.
“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along the corner of your mouth. “Because I don’t think I’m done with you.”
The kiss was slow, deliberate—Caleb taking his time as if savoring something he’d been waiting for too damn long to have. His lips were soft but insistent, drawing a quiet gasp from you when he deepened it, pressing you further against the wall with an almost lazy kind of dominance.
His hands wandered, one slipping beneath the hem of your top, fingertips ghosting up your spine in a way that had your stomach tightening. The other drifted lower, teasing over your hip, fingers grazing just below your waistband before retreating yet again, as if daring you to ask for more.
You arched into him, impatience curling in your gut. “Tease,” you breathed against his mouth.
Caleb chuckled, low and full of promise. “I like watching you get all worked up, pipsqueak.” His lips trailed lower, down the curve of your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where he nipped lightly before soothing it with his tongue. “Besides,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick, “we’ve got seven minutes, right?”
You barely bit back a laugh, but it turned into a sharp inhale when his hand finally moved lower, palming over the heat between your thighs.
“We’re already over time, and you know it,” you managed, trying to keep some semblance of control despite the way your knees nearly buckled.
With one sharp tug, your panties were gone, slipped down your thighs and tossed somewhere behind him. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, the press of his clothed length against your bare core making you moan into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Caleb breathed, dragging his lips down your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse point as he worked his pants open with one hand. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. “Then stop waiting, Caleb.”
His breath hitched.
Caleb groaned, deep and needy, the sound vibrating against your throat as he finally freed himself from his pants. His cock, thick and aching, pressed hot against your bare core, teasing, tempting—making you feel just how much he wanted this.
Wanted you.
His fingers dug into your hips, restraining himself even as he rocked against you, letting you feel the heavy, solid weight of him. “Fuck, you’re so warm,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “Been dreamin’ about this for years.”
Your nails raked down his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath his skin, the tension he was barely holding back. It sent heat coiling low in your belly, made you throb for him.
“Then don’t make me wait any longer,” you murmured, reaching between you, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the silky heat of his cock as you guided him to where you needed him most.
Caleb shuddered, his grip tightening, and then—
He pushed in.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he stretched you, slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to adjust to the size of him, the sheer, delicious burn of him sinking deeper.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing around him. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
You clenched around him, making him curse under his breath, his fingers tightening their grip. “So do you,” you whispered, tilting his chin up so his gaze met yours, lidded, hungry. “So move.”
That snapped something in him.
With a low growl, Caleb snapped his hips forward, setting a slow, deep rhythm, making sure you felt every thick, delicious inch of him with every thrust.
You gasped, nails raking down his back, thighs tightening around his waist.
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, letting your head fall back against the door as he moved inside you, hitting spots that made your toes curl. “Caleb—”
His teeth sank into your neck, his breath hot, shaky. “Say my name like that again,” he rasped, rolling his hips, dragging another helpless moan from you. “Say it just like that, baby.”
You did.
Over and over.
Caleb's pace turned ruthless, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring you to him as he slammed into you. The air in the tiny closet was thick, sweltering, filled with the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin, of your breathless moans and his deep, needy groans.
“Fuck, baby,” he gritted, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight—gonna make me lose my mind.”
You were already losing yours.
The way he stretched you, filled you completely, the way every roll of his hips hit that devastating spot inside you—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.
And maybe he was.
“Caleb—fuck—I’m so close,” you gasped, your body tightening, trembling, your toes curling as pleasure coiled low in your stomach, tightening, building.
His jaw clenched, his thrusts turning erratic, more desperate, more needy. “I got you, baby,” he rasped, slipping a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles. “Come for me—wanna feel you come all over my cock.”
That was all it took.
Pleasure exploded through you, hot and blinding, crashing over you in waves so powerful you swore you saw stars. Your walls clenched around him, hard and tight, and Caleb snapped, his groan raw, wrecked, as he thrust deep one last time, filling you with everything he had.
His body trembled against yours, his breath coming out in heavy, shaky pants as he slumped forward, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your throat, anywhere he could reach.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, laughing, dazed, pressing his forehead to yours. “That was—”
“Yeah,” you whispered, equally breathless, equally wrecked. “It was.”
The knock on the closet door came again, louder, impatient.
“Seriously?!” Patrick’s voice practically groaned through the wood. “I know you guys just fucked, but we are literally at the academy! Open the damn door already!”
Caleb groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “We are never livin’ this down.”
You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, still buzzing from the high. “Nope,” you agreed, smiling against his skin. “But hey… at least we finally stopped dancing around this, huh?”
He lifted his head, looking at you with something warm, something fond, something dangerous brewing behind those stormy violet eyes.
“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours in a slow, teasing kiss.
“We definitely did.”
The charged air between you and Caleb had finally settled, leaving nothing but the soft echoes of your breaths and the lingering heat of what had just happened. The space around you was still dark, still cramped, the scent of him—woodsy, clean, with a faint trace of jet fuel—filling the tiny closet.
Your legs still trembled slightly where they straddled his lap, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. Caleb's hands, once gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, now traced slow, soothing circles along your hips, grounding you.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice rougher than usual, but laced with something softer.
You exhaled a slow, satisfied sigh, letting your fingers trail along the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just… wow.”
That cocky smirk of his made a reappearance, but it was gentler this time, more fond than teasing. “Yeah?” His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in, pressing the faintest kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw. “Didn’t push too much, did I?”
You shook your head, letting your weight sink against him, completely content in the way he held you. “No, you were perfect.”
Caleb hummed, running a hand down your back before reaching for something behind you. In his hands was a discarded jacket that must’ve fallen from one of the coathangers when you’d gotten pushed inside. With careful movements, he slipped it over your shoulders, tucking you into the worn fabric as if the walls of the closet weren’t already pressing you both together. “Here. Can’t have you going out there looking too wrecked, now can I.”
You snorted, nuzzling into his chest. “Oh, please. They’re going to be insufferable either way by the sound of Patrick’s voice.”
He chuckled, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “Yeah, but at least I can pretend I left you with some dignity.”
You smirked against his shirt. “How thoughtful of you.”
A few moments passed in comfortable silence, the distant chatter from the party still going strong just beyond the closet door. Caleb’s fingers idly trailed along your arm, his touch light, reassuring. “You wanna go out there yet, or…?”
You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief despite the spent, satisfied haze in them. “What, you want round two in here, flyboy?”
His grin turned downright wolfish. “Tempting.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours again, slow, savoring. “But I think I’d rather take my time when we don’t have half our friends waiting outside, ears pressed to the door.”
You sighed dramatically. “So considerate.”
He gave your thigh a playful squeeze before shifting beneath you, sighing. “Alright, pipsqueak, you ready to face the wolves?”
You let out a groan, already dreading the inevitable teasing, but gave a nod as you took your panties from his outstretched arm.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The moment you and Caleb stepped out of the closet, the common area of the academy dorm erupted.
A chorus of whistles, cheers, and over-the-top applause filled the air, drowning out the hum of music still playing in the background. Drinks sloshed over the rims of glasses as your so-called friends—traitorous and utterly entertained—howled with laughter at what they had just witnessed. Well, heard, really.
Patrick was the first to greet you, grinning like he had just won the jackpot. “Damn, Wings, that was some first-class fucking in there,” he teased, elbowing Caleb hard in the ribs. “The whole common room heard you two trying to ‘navigate the landing.’”
Your stomach dropped, face burning instantly. “Oh my god—”
Caleb, the menace, didn’t even flinch. He just chuckled, rolling his shoulders back as if he hadn’t just been thoroughly railing you in a closet like some reckless cadet. His lavender eyes gleamed with mischief. “What can I say? I’m a hands-on kind of pilot.”
The crowd groaned at his shameless delivery, but it only made him smirk wider.
“You weren’t even trying to be quiet,” another voice—Oliver—piped up from the couch, sprawled out like he owned the place. “I mean, come on. We gave you seven minutes, and you give us the entire x-rated flick?”
“I should’ve recorded it,” Thomas added, sighing. “A missed opportunity for paypack.”
You smacked your hands over your face, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole. Caleb, however, was still far too relaxed, one hand casually resting on his hip while the other brushed against your lower back, fingers barely grazing your skin—a quiet, private reminder that he was still right there.
Across the room, Tara, ever the voice of reason, simply shook her head as she swirled her drink. “You two have been dancing around each other for years. You do realize that, right?”
Silence fell over the group.
Everyone’s eyes snapped toward you and Caleb.
The air between you thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down. Caleb’s smirk hadn’t faded, but his expression had shifted slightly—softer now, more deliberate. His fingers at your back pressed just a little firmer as he tilted his head, stormy eyes watching you with quiet amusement.
“Well?” he mused, voice low, teasing. “Think we should make it official, pipsqueak?”
Your stomach flipped.
You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell everyone that this wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment game, that Caleb wasn’t just some reckless decision you’d regret in the morning. But before you could speak, Patrick suddenly gasped, dramatic as ever.
“WAIT.” He turned toward the others, his face lighting up. “That means I won the bet!”
A collective groan rose from the group as he threw his hands in the air triumphantly.
“Oh, fuck off, Patrick,” Oliver grumbled.
Thomas threw actual money at him. “I hate you.”
Tara just sighed. “I should’ve known.”
Patrick turned back toward you and Caleb, grinning like the troublemaker he was. “So, for real—are you dating now, or am I just gonna have to keep orchestrating ridiculous excuses for you two to make out in small spaces?”
Caleb chuckled, shifting closer, his voice warm and teasing. “You got a problem with that, pipsqueak?” His fingers squeezed gently at your waist, daring. “Because I was kinda hoping this wasn’t just a one-time thing.”
Your breath hitched, heat curling in your chest.
This man.
This reckless, insufferable, wonderful man.
You exhaled, finally leaning into his hold, letting yourself smirk up at him. “Well,” you murmured, eyes gleaming, “if I say no, you do have a way of convincing me.”
The room erupted again—cheers, jeers, and exaggerated groans—but none of it mattered.
Because in that moment, with Caleb’s arm wrapped around you and that knowing, all-consuming look in his eyes, you knew.
Life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.